


speak quickly

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fantasizing, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius imagines what might happen if he tried to return Javert's pistols.</p>
            </blockquote>





	speak quickly

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't take this too seriously and please don't look at me ever again oh God.
> 
> This mostly came out of a "why aren't there any fics in this beautiful tag?" thought from a few weeks back and then a ton of motivation/encouragement I wasn't expecting and. Why.
> 
> Beta'd by the absolutely lovely re-sassafrass, whom I can't thank enough!

For some time after Marius watched Inspector Javert escort Jondrette and his gang from the Gorbeau Tenement, he simply sat on his bed, cross-legged, staring at the pistols Javert had given him. He was supposed to have sent a warning signal, but hadn’t; Jondrette was supposedly Thénardier, the man who had saved his father, but Javert was the man who had saved Ursula’s father.

It had been impressive watching him; a complete change from his disposition when Marius had met him only a few hours earlier. He had been impatient and seemingly uninterested at the station house, but when he strode into Thénardier’s apartment he was confident and forceful; Marius was reminded of Enjolras, though they were terrifying in different ways. He did not envy any of those whom had been arrested.

The pistols seemed to mock him over the next few days. Marius kept them stashed away behind a pile of books, but they seemed to call to him incessantly. More than once, he picked them up, stuffed them roughly into his coat pockets, and made to leave his room. He could never get past the door, though; what would he even say to Javert? He hadn’t done as the inspector had told him, after all.

The third time this happened, he pulled the guns out of his pockets, still holding onto them as he lay back on his bed, sighing deeply.

It’s not as though Marius’s involvement would have been pivotal, he tried to tell himself; he let the authorities know that something was going to happen, and those same authorities showed up and took care of the situation. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about Thénardier being taken to prison; the man had saved his father’s life. And the man who had gotten away — Ursula’s father, whoever he was — seemed just as dangerous as the rest of them.

His indecision had paralyzed him in the moment where his involvement might have been critical. He was stuck simply watching everything unfold before him, incapable of doing the small thing Javert had asked of him. Javert, on the other hand, was in control; he managed to subdue Thénardier and his gang by the sheer force of his presence. He understood how reluctant they might have been to challenge Javert, though; the smile he gave Thénardier as he held out his hat was terrible.

It made Marius’s failure even harder to bear. What would he even say if he went back to see Javert? He would show up and Javert would either scold him as though he were a child, or mock him the way he had during their first meeting. Either one would result in Marius leaving with his head down, humiliated. Perhaps Javert did not remember Marius; perhaps he forgot about the pistols.

He found he couldn’t get Javert — especially that terrifying smile — out of his head. Anxiety pooled high in his stomach as he thought about having to confront Javert again and how Javert might react to Marius’s inaction. His failure.

As he thought about it more, though, the anxiety shifted; instead of an emptiness he felt heat, settling a good deal lower on his abdomen than it had earlier.

He pictured himself taking the pistols back to Javert as he continued to lay there, his eyes closed and his hands still tight around the guns. He would try to be confident, as he had been when he first met the inspector. Perhaps as Marius entered his office, Javert would have been turned around, muttering angrily about the stove catching his coat again, before noticing Marius’s presence.

“Well?” Javert would snap, awaiting an explanation. Maybe he would have taken off his coat to examine the singed hem, leaving him in only his shirtsleeves.

“Pardon me, monsieur l’inspector,” Marius would try. He tried to think about the look that might have been on Javert’s face, but instead saw himself staring only at his chest, too nervous to look any higher.

Javert wouldn’t respond, and eventually Marius would work up the nerve to look at his face. His brow would have been crooked, looking at Marius expectantly, showing him no more respect than he had shown him during their first meeting. He would try to stammer out an explanation, but what could he say? He couldn’t tell the inspector of the letter he had received from his father, couldn’t tell him about the his love’s father…

Through his babbling, Javert would keep him fixed with that unimpressed stare that pierced through Marius’s entire being. Back on his bed, Marius let go of one of the guns and undid the flies of his trousers, finding himself half-hard and taking himself in hand.

He thought of Javert mocking him the way he realized he had done during their first meeting; he understood that Javert thought very little of him, but did not understand why it filled him with the heat that it did. He stroked his cock, rougher than he normally did, still imagining Javert in his shirtsleeves looking at Marius with a look of pure derision.

Marius’s response to even the thought of returning the pistols to Javert just furthered his sense of dread; what if he did return and Javert — as he surely would — humiliated him like this, and Marius’s traitorous body had the same response? If Javert was disappointed in him before, he would surely be even moreso after this.

He imagined Javert deriding him, then stopping mid-sentence to stare at the mortifying and telling bulge in Marius’s trousers.

“Are you even listening?” He would snap.

Marius would stare down at the floor, mumbling, unsure of what he could say to make the situation any less terrifying, but Javert would cut him off.

“Speak up,” he would demand, “and look at me. People do not mumble when they speak to me.”

He would look up just in time to see Javert stepping closer to him, having set his coat down on his desk. Marius would be rooted to the ground, completely unable to take even a nervous step backward until Javert was only inches away from him. But even as he backed up, Javert kept walking toward him in long, confident strides, until Marius was pressed up against the wall of the office.

Javert would have one hand on the wall, next to Marius’s face, and one hand on the incriminating bulge in Marius’s trousers. “This is what you waste my time with?”

Back on his bed, Marius stroked his cock harder, imagining one of Javert’s large hands deftly undoing his trousers and wrapping around him.

“You wasted my time at the Gorbeau house by making me wait for a signal you never sent,” he would spit, his voice low but clear, “and now this?”

He twisted his cock roughly as Javert might, wincing in pain and biting his lip.  

Javert’s grip on him would be tight, almost cruel; he would flash Marius that terrifying grin when he heard him whimper. Javert would be cool and in control, the opposite of Marius, who would be shaking and pathetic beneath him.

“Pathetic,” Javert might murmur, echoing Marius’s thoughts, before fisting his free hand in Marius’s hair and pulling back, exposing his neck. Javert was taller than him, he would have to lean over considerably to bite at Marius’s neck, but he would, and his mouth would be just as relentless as his hands.

Marius’s hands would be useless at his sides, for he could not bring himself to touch Javert, not unsolicited, not this man who was power and control and everything Marius wasn’t. He would stand there, fisting and releasing his hands desperately as Javert continued to stroke him and continued to bite at his skin.

Perhaps Javert would bite him particularly hard and Marius would let out a small yelp, to which Javert would hiss for him to be quiet. He would move his mouth from Marius’s neck to his mouth, kissing him hard and rough, biting at his lower lip hard enough to bruise, swallowing every noise Marius lets escape his throat.

His hand would still be stroking him, even more roughly, twisting at Marius’s cock painfully. Marius matched this with his own hand, biting even harder at his lip. With one last cruel tug from Javert’s — Marius’s — hand, Marius came, spend covering his hand and trousers.

He kept his eyes shut tightly as he regained his breath before sitting up on his bed. Before even cleaning himself off, he looked down at the pistols that were still there, still mocking him.

He was even more confident now that he would never return them to Javert.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry
> 
> my beta told me not to ship this


End file.
